


Constant Vigilance (Both Eyes Open)

by lyonet



Series: Do We Live [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past minor character death, Tina's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyonet/pseuds/lyonet
Summary: This is their punishment for not noticing when the Director of Magical Security was replaced with a notorious dark wizard: their observational skills will improve or Graves will kill them all trying.So far Tina is surviving better than the others. She’s more paranoid than she used to be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I did not intend to make this into a series, but...I made it into a series. The Niffler's role was inspired by this adorable [art](http://second-salemite.tumblr.com/post/154470724016/whrorong-ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-mr-graves).

Tina wants it down for the record that at no point did she give her approval to any of this. She is minding her own business, eating a piece of toast, while everyone she lives with cheerfully goes about their criminal activities.

Newt went out at some point in the middle of the night and returned an hour ago with a pile of parcels that reek of brine and illegality. He slunk off to his suitcase with them hidden under his coat. If Tina had wanted to round up New York’s breeders of banned magical animals, all she’d have had to do was follow Newt around last night – he’s not as sneaky as he thinks he is, and how he thinks he’s sneaky at all after that shemozzle at the bank, Tina doesn’t know. She heard him leave. She’s not sleeping as well these days. But she didn’t follow him. She turned Newt in to the authorities once and nearly got them both killed; they’ve been through too much together to do it again, even if it makes her twitch thinking about how many laws he’s probably broken.

Queenie, meanwhile, has covered the kitchen table in a mix of wizarding and No-Maj newspapers. She and Jacob have their heads together, talking shop. Thanks to Newt’s generous financial contribution (“I wasn’t sure what to do with them anyway,” he said shyly as he dumped solid silver eggshells into Queenie’s lap) they can afford to be choosy about properties. Queenie laughs at whatever Jacob is thinking and crosses out the one they’ve been discussing. “It was your dream first, honey,” she tells him. “You’re the master baker around here.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, one taste of your strudel and we’ll have have them lining up for blocks.”

Tina takes a bite of toast and resolutely doesn’t say what she’s thinking. Not that it makes much difference; Queenie gives her an exasperated look and says, “You know what Newt says about worrying, and I agree with him.”

_I don’t_ want  _to be worrying,_ Tina thinks pointedly.

The only person behaving above reproach is Credence, who has taken himself off for a shower. Queenie finished the stitching on his new clothes last night so he has something to change into that isn’t second-hand from Newt’s unpredictable wardrobe. Tina turns around when she hears the bathroom door open, ready to say something supportive, then drops her toast.

“Credence,” she says carefully, “what happened to your hair?”

In the fifteen minutes between leaving the kitchen and returning to it, Credence’s hair has gone from a  harsh bowl-cut to a shoulder-length cloud of soft dark curls. With the flattering cut of the waistcoat Queenie made for him and the slightly oversized shirt underneath, he looks like a young poet on the verge of writing a masterpiece about the cruelties of metropolitan life. Tina is so used to thinking of him as a boy that it’s a shock to be reminded that he is an adult – old enough to be married, if he wanted, to have children. He’s also considerably taller than she is, which she somehow also forgets whenever he’s not directly in front of her.

“I used the wrong soap,” he says guiltily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand the label.”

“Oh, honey, you look swell,” Queenie says, coming over to look. “That’s my emergency Quick-Gro shampoo for fixing bad haircuts, I should have thought of using it on you before. Jacob, doesn’t he look handsome?”

“Knock ‘em dead, buddy!” Jacob says enthusiastically, patting Credence on the back.

Credence looks flustered, like he’s never been given a compliment before and doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with them. He smooths down the waistcoat, thanking Queenie for what’s probably the twentieth time. She laughs and kisses him on the cheek. “Don’t mention it, honey. I’ll fix you up with some shirts next.”

Newt comes up from his suitcase then. His hands still smell powerfully of fish but he seems to want them all to ignore that, so they do. Tina passes him the teapot, hoping he washed up after whatever he was doing. Newt murmurs a thank you, gives Credence’s hair a brief bemused look and follows Jacob’s eager beckoning to give his opinion on the property currently under consideration. Queenie takes out thread and linen; she’s teaching an intensely attentive Credence the spell for stitching buttonholes when Tina puts on her coat and leaves.

One of the first things Mr Graves did when he returned to work – and  Merlin help anyone who implied he’d maybe come back to work a little bit too early – was reinstate Tina’s position on his team. Technically she’s owed a bit of leave after  the duel with his doppelganger, but Tina didn’t want it and suspect s Graves would have shown up the doorstep looking disappointed in her if she had taken it. He has never been an easy man to work under  and  since Grindelwald he’s cracking down on the entire department with iron resolve. This is their punishment for not noticing when the Director of Magical Security was replaced with a notorious dark wizard: their observational skills will improve or he will kill them all trying.

So far Tina is surviving better than the others. She’s more paranoid than she used to be. 

She is ambushed at the doors by a pair of junior Aurors who have selected her as the safest person to approach with terrified questions, like whether Graves will actually curse them if they  get in his way (a solid maybe) and if Madam Picquery can really freeze your blood with the wandless magic of her most disgusted stare (very likely,  Tina has never held eye contact with her long enough to find out ).  Graves and Picquery have been the  centre of  MACUSA  gossip ever since they started out as Aurors  in the same year, blazing through the department, first in hot competition and then joining forces so effectively that the only safe option was to  let them get on with it . It still is.

These  junior Aurors are so new that Tina isn’t sure if they even met the real Graves before Grindelwald started wearing his life like a  mask . The thought makes her feel unexpectedly sick. She can’t imagine how it makes Graves feel. She tries to ignore the whispers and  inquisitive looks that follow her all the way to her desk and the stares that weigh on her back once she’s sat down. There’s too much work to do, to allow herself to get distracted. She breathes in  deeply , eyes fixed on the photograph on her parents that’s back in its spot on her desk, then takes out the little vial of Grindelwald’s memories that’s been assigned to her today, a silver saucer to put it in and a pad of paper to  make notes.

They are taking turns, passing the memories  a round to extract the  maximum amount of information they can from them. There have been raids all week, chasing down Grindelwald’s allies, ransacking every place they can confirm he’s been and  any that are suspected. Graves has led each raid personally. Tina has been at his side for most of them. They haven’t talked much beyond the job and that’s fine, she doesn’t know what to say to him  anyway . 

She didn’t notice.  That’s the thing . She believed it was him  who sentenced her to death. There is not an apology long enough in the world to make up for that and what’s worse, there is a very small part of her that  has not  _stopped_ believing it , that flinches back from the impatient flick of his wand hand and the expectant bark of his voice. Grindelwald is still standing in his shadow.

And  Graves knows it. Tina doesn’t think she can ever look him in the face again.

So, she works. She throws herself into the ugly haze of Grindelwald’s thoughts and with every passing hour feels a more acute empathy for Queenie, who had to wrench all of this out and probably had to see much, much worse things on the way.  Tina views streets, rooms, alleyways, taking copious notes on each scene. You never know what might be important. 

She surfaces to a hand on her shoulder. Tina shakes her head, trying to clear her ears, and looks up. Her first thought is that it must be Graves, but no – she scrambles to her feet when the face above her turns out to belong to Seraphina Picquery.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the President says.

“Not at all, no problem ma’am, what can I do to help?” Tina rattles off, too fast.

“Walk with me,” Picquery says. “This won’t take long.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tina locks the Pensieve away and follows Picquery obediently. The stares from every desk follow them all the way to the door.

*

Here is the first rule Tina broke:  she mixed up who she wanted to be with who she wanted to have.

She didn’t realise it was a crush at first. Seraphina Picquery had done everything Tina most badly wanted to do and so well that she’d set a new standard on the way. Tina followed her career in the newspapers. She cut out photographs and tried to emulate her appearance (she’s ten years younger and hasn’t a quarter of the style; it didn’t go well), she noted down the advice given in every interview and seethed over the ‘scandals’ that frustrated reporters would conjure out of Picquery’s every move. It wasn’t until Tina actually met her idol, during her last year at Ilvermorny when the students signed up for Auror training and were given a tour around the MACUSA, that she realised this went beyond admiration. She stuttered, she blushed, and she made what was most likely a humiliating first impression while having the sexual awakening she had never asked for.

It wasn’t illegal to feel that way, or  to  act on those feelings, in the wizarding world. If it was a choice between falling in love with a No-Maj or someone of the same sex, well, at least you were sticking with your own kind, but that didn’t mean you’d escape  disapproving gossip and sad remarks from your relatives about how you weren’t carrying on the bloodline.

When Tina actually joined the department, her second crush was on Percival Graves.

This was a rite of passage.  All the girls had been there (and more than a few of the boys, too) to the point where it was something of an office joke.  Graves was no more likely to look at Tina twice than Picquery  was , and she didn’t honestly want him to. She  could just appreciate the fit of his waistcoats and the straight dark line of his eyebrows from a careful distance. But if somebody noticed her doing it, it would merit nothing more than a little ribbing on coffee breaks. Hardly worth remarking on, really.

Here is the first rule Tina made: if you can’t be brilliant, be unremarkable. Be convenient. It’s easier to get things done that way.

*

“Is he coping,” Picquery says, without preamble, when she has Tina alone.

There is no need to specify who she means,  but  Tina doesn’t know what to say. “He’s very committed, ma’am,” is what she goes with. “The search is producing results.”

“I don’t question that,” Picquery says tartly. “Graves has been producing results since he was beating me in Charms class. He appears to have taken you on as a kind of lieutenant, which means you’ve been observing him the closest since his return to work. Has his behaviour been erratic? Is he showing signs of strain?”

Tina looks at her silently.  _Are you looking for a reason to get rid of him?_ “No, ma’am.”

Picquery nods. It’s impossible to tell if she’s pleased with this answer or not. “Tell me if that changes. Only me, do you understand?”

“Ma’am,” Tina says, which only sounds like _yes_ if that’s the answer you’re already expecting. Picquery nods at her and strides away with a ripple of blue and gold robes. Looking at her still makes Tina feel clumsy and wanting and a little  bit desperate to prove herself. 

She goes to get a cup of coffee instead of heading straight back to work and realises it’s two in the afternoon; she’s worked straight through lunch hour. She isn’t hungry. Spending half the day retracing Grindelwald’s  foot steps doesn’t exactly whet the appetite. She heads outside, more for the fresh air than anything, and buys a sandwich from the vendor on the corner. He’s a No-Maj but conveniently situated for quick office lunches, which means he might actually see more witches and wizards on any given day than Tina does. She eats sitting on a cold bench, trying not to look at the front page of the  paper that the man sitting beside her is reading.

The  media mogul  Henry Shaw and his son were Obliviated by the department’s best,  which means t he editor of the city’s most popular paper is not  actively accusing an out of control wizard of killing his son, but the strangeness of the incident has proved indelible, so instead a  series of conspiracy theories have  been  paraded across the headlines for New York’s consideration. There is a heightened tension made all the more dangerous by the fact the very people who are most afraid don’t truly know why.

The two young Aurors who accosted Tina earlier in the day are fighting in furious whispers when  she gets back. “It was  _in my pocket,_ ” the one in green says tightly. “I did not drop it.”

“You must have done,” the brunette with the red blouse snaps. “Look harder.”

“What’s missing?” Tina asks uneasily, taking off her scarf.

The girl in green looks up at her apprehensively. “My – my wand.”

Tina looks at her, appalled. “You’re not serious.”

“It was in my pocket! I don’t understand what happened, I haven’t even got up for hours…” She twists her hands. “Oh. I did – I delivered some papers to Mr Graves’ office. You don’t think…” At this point her tone turns imploring. “I can’t go back in there to look. I _can’t_.”

If Tina gives in on this, she’ll be dealing with the girl’s problems for years to come. On the other hand, Tina wanted to talk to Graves anyway and this girl doesn’t deserve the coals that will hail down on her head if  he learns that she lost her  _wand._ “I’ll look,” Tina says grimly,  stalking off before she can be thanked. She grabs her pad of notes as an excuse.

The door flies open at her knock and Graves looks up from a sheaf of papers with a quizzical lift to his eyebrows. Tina opens her mouth and, for the second time today, drops what she’s holding out of overwhelming surprise. The Niffler is sitting on Graves’ desk. It has three wands poking out of its pounch. It is lapping at a mug of steaming coffee.

Graves is fully aware of all these things. He is petting the Niffler idly with his free hand.

“What,” Tina says, helplessly.

“You’ll need to be more specific, Goldstein,” Graves says calmly.

“You stole the Niffler,” Tina blurts.

“In fact, I did not. The Niffler stole my pocket-watch, or attempted to do so, and I would like you to inquire with Mr Scamander about what measures he takes to ensure his creatures do not rampage around the city at will, because they don’t seem to be working. Anyway, I could see this little thief has a useful skill set, so we came to an arrangement.”

“How,” Tina says. She can’t manage multiple words right now.

“I introduced it to the concept of a wage.”

“You hired the Niffler?” Tina squeaks. “To _steal wands_?”

“To hone my team’s precautionary practices,” Graves corrects. A shiny coin appears between his fingers and he trades it solemnly for the wands. “Complacency will get you killed, and a Niffler is the least of our worries.”

“Sir,” Tina says, “what do you want us to _do_?”

“Better,” Graves says coolly. He glances at the still waiting Niffler, hands it a second coin and watches it leap off his desk. “We all need to do much, much better if we’re to stand a chance when Grindelwald’s supporters come to free him.”

*

The next rule Tina broke: she acted as a friend, not an Auror.

The Second Salemers were a cult of the most inconvenient kind. There are dozens like them across the country, preaching fire and brimstone mixed up with just enough truth to catch MACUSA’s attention. People like that, so rigid in their beliefs, instinctively resist Obliviation. It’s like laying one coat of white paint over wallpaper, the original pattern shows through in the weak patches. So Tina was sent to keep an eye on them, to assess just how dangerous Mary-Lou Barebone was.

To the wizarding population of New York? Not much of a risk, was Tina’s impression. Mary-Lou thought in terms of witch marks and fought with pamphlets that nobody wanted to read, she had neither the contacts nor the charisma to get enough traction to be a threat. To the children who lived with her, however, she was as dangerous as it was possible to be. Tina had not picked up on the signs at first –  a ll she’d known was that watching the Barebone siblings trail after their leader was unsettling in a way that got under Tina’s skin. Then she saw the welts on the boy’s hand and figured out what was happening behind closed doors.

All she had wanted to do was make things  _better._ She’d hung around the edges of the speeches until she learned the children’s names: Modesty, Chastity, Credence. She approached the boy carefully, trying to build up trust. It was shockingly easy. Credence, she quickly saw, was desperate. He was an animal in a cage who had never accustomed himself to the bars, or quite lost the hope that maybe one day somebody would let him out.  The only leap he couldn’t make was to get out on his own.

All Tina had wanted was to set him free. Instead, she had made everything so much worse.

“Please,” she’d begged Graves after the hearing, for once not giving a damn what he thought of her, “please just meet him for yourself.”

Graves had stared at her incredulously. He didn’t like people asking him for favours; he didn’t like Tina much right, she knew, after all the mopping up it had taken to clean the memories of Tina’s mistake from the heads of Mary-Lou’s followers.

“Please,” she said, without hope, “he has no one else.”

Graves had shaken his head and walked towards the door. Then, with his hand on the knob, he had said coldly, “All right, Goldstein. I’ll meet him.”

Here is the second rule Tina made: don’t trust your instincts.

*

Newt has to be restrained from a retrieval mission when Tina gets home and tells him about the Niffler’s employment. It’s the coffee thing that upsets him most. “A Niffler’s digestive system is too delicate for caffeinated drinks!” he wails. Queenie has to leave the room and laugh herself sick on the stairs so as not to offend him. Credence, whose back straightened at the mention of Graves’ name like he expected the man himself to appear at the sound, has a small smile on his face that he directs down at the book in his lap.

“He can’t do this,” Newt says, clawing at his hair. “He has no idea how to look after a Niffler.”

“The Niffler seems pretty capable of looking after itself,” Tina offers.

Newt is not comforted. “No, no, you don’t understand. Nifflers are magical creatures, they get around locks, they’ll get around anything if they think there’s treasure in it for them. People misuse them. Mr Graves has no idea what he’s doing. You have to tell him.”

“I am not telling him that,” Tina says firmly.

Newt disappears into his suitcase to double-check that all the other creatures are where they belong. Queenie slips back into the apartment, still shaking with suppressed giggles. “Jacob’s out looking at places,” she tells Tina. “I’m heading out to scout with him. You want in?”

“No, thanks,” Tina says. “I want some of that soup on the stove and then my pillow.”

“Credence made the soup,” Queenie informs her. “He’s a pretty good cook, you know, once he lightened up and stopped skimping on the pepper.”

“I want to earn my keep,” Credence says, closing his book. He looks anxious now.

“Quit worrying about that, honey, we all like having you around.”

Queenie swishes out in her pink coat, golden curls bobbing, leaving Tina alone in the kitchen with Credence. He gets up to fetch her a bowl and spoons it full of the warm savoury soup. Tina sits at the other end of the table with a murmured thank-you; silence follows as she eats and Credence returns to his reading. He’s not very fast but he reads with such fierce interest that he appears to be absorbing the books whole. He’s on one of Bathilda Bagshot’s historical treatises now, balancing the hefty weight of five hundred pages against the edge of the table. Bagshot tends to have a highly British-centric historical world-view but Tina likes reading them anyway, dipping in and out over the course of months. It’s very different from the history books she studied at Ilvermorny.

It’s obviously very different from anything Credence has read in his life. She can see him struggling and finally puts down her spoon, saying “You can ask, if you don’t understand something.”

Credence stops turning pages. “Can I ask if I don’t understand anything?”

Tina smiles. “You’ve kind of jumped in the deep in there with Bagshot. Maybe you should try something lighter first. Hold on.”

She gets up and goes to fish around under her bed until she finds the box of her old school textbooks. The bedroom is hers and Queenie’s again, now that Newt has configured the linen cupboard into a spare room with his Extension Charms. Not that he’s sleeping in there; he prefers to be with his beasts, curled in a nest of blankets like he’s one of them. Given how cramped the apartment has become, Tina is grateful for his unsocial tendencies. She wishes sometimes that she could indulge her own.

Credence hovers in the bedroom doorway, unsure of his welcome. Tina hefts the box onto her bed and waves him over. “Let’s try you on…how about this one. _Salem to the Civil War_ _: A Primer on Wizarding Pioneers, Vol I._ ” She realises belatedly the connotation of the title and goes silent.

“I’m sorry,” Credence says quietly.

Tina blinks. He’s echoed what she was about to say. “What for?”

“The – those pamphlets,” Credence says. “I didn’t understand what it meant. I thought – you seemed so powerful. I didn’t think we’d matter at all to people like you.” He glances at Tina and sees her confusion. “Ma wanted witches to be burned at the stake. I gave out pamphlets. I told people about the cause.”

“You didn’t want to, Credence,” Tina says, understanding dawning. “I don’t blame you, what else could you have done? That woman was evil.” Credence flinches and Tina tries another tack. “Witch burnings were mostly a joke anyway. There are spells you can use to keep flames from burning, how else would we use the Floo network? It’s if you lose your wand that you have to worry.”

That makes her think of Graves’ new strategy and she sighs. “Credence…I’m the one who should be sorry. I knew what you were going through. I should have got you out of there.”

“You sent Mr Graves,” Credence says. “He told me.”

“Yes, and look how that worked out.” Tina scrubs her face, trying not to cry. She doesn’t have the right; this isn’t about her. “I’m so sorry, Credence.”

She feels the light, tentative touch of his hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Tina.”

“It’s not. It’s really not. I – I don’t think I’ve done one thing right since I got the Second Salem assignment. Did I stop Newt losing his beasts in a public No-Maj space? No. Did my following your mother around do anything at all to help you? No. Did I notice when my mentor was imprisoned and replaced by _Gellert Grindelwald_? No. I didn’t. Any good thing I’ve done  has just been mopping up after my own mess. You handed out _pamphlets,_ I nearly got Newt killed.”

“I didn’t notice, either.” There’s an edge in Credence’s voice that makes Tina look up. “Except…I think I did. He was different one day. Harder. I thought…I didn’t know he could be someone else. Is that something that happens in your world? Do wizards take each other’s faces?”

“No,” Tina admits. “No, that one’s strange even for us.”

“Is he okay?” Credence asks softly.

It is as loaded a question from him as it was from Picquery, if for different reasons, and Tina has no better idea of how to answer it now than she did earlier in the day. 

“I’ll try to find out,” she says.

*

The third rule Tina broke was this: she acted as an Auror when she should have been a friend.

She wanted her job back. The humiliation of demotion was one thing – and was it ever humiliating – but the feeling of uselessness was worse. She had not signed up for a desk job, she had signed up to be out there helping the people who needed it and the one person she wanted to help most was still living with a woman who thought beating him bloody was an act of Christian duty. Tina looked at Newt and saw an opportunity. If she could just convince Mr Graves to reinstate her…

Tina had been drawing lines in the sand all her life. She lived with a sister who could see her every passing thought; privacy was what Tina refused to talk about. Her job was to enforce the law; it didn’t matter whether she agreed with it or not. She was queer and Jewish and a woman, and she knew enough about No-Majs to see how many walls would be in her way if she lived as one of them, so it was easier to walk past like theirs was a world full of noisy ghosts rather than think about all the little girls who never got an Ilvermorny letter.

Queenie was the bleeding heart of the family. Tina was the rational one.

So she turned Newt in. He broke the law, after all. It wasn’t until she was in the interrogation room, listening to Graves talk about the power of an Obscurus, that her guilty confusion turned into fear. Because that was not what Percival Graves would have said. He would not have given a damn about power when a magical menace was at large in his city.

Percival Graves would never have sent her off to be executed with a finger against his lips and a flick of his hand, but the executioners were just doing their jobs, weren’t they? It was the law. It didn’t matter whether they agreed with it or not.

*

The next raid goes wrong. One of Grindelwald’s hideouts comes with a Vanishing Cabinet; the apartment is suddenly full of his supporters and it’s a vicious battle pitched in a cramped hallway, curses burning through the air. Tina is duelling for her life and the only thing she can think is: _that green wallpaper is not going to be the last thing I ever see._

It isn’t. Tina is fast and Graves is ferocious. When the battle is over there are three dark wizards in various cursed states on the floor, bound and wandless, and the fourth is dead. Tina is panting for breath, hands shaky as she gathers up the wands. Graves, though, is dull-eyed, almost disinterested, going through the motions now that the fighting is over. He goes to report to Picquery after their return to the MACUSA and Tina sits at her desk, hands braced against the wood like the steadiness of it will seep through to her quivering heart.

Then she gets up and goes to Graves’ office to wait for him.

“The Niffler stays here,” he says when he sees her there, “unless Mr Scamander comes in personally and convinces it to change its mind. Which is an unexpectedly difficult feat, I’ve noticed. It’s late, Goldstein, you should go home.”

“I’m not going home, sir.” Tina catches sight of the Niffler’s snout poking out curiously from Graves’ pocket and pulls her courage together. “My sister’s bought a bakery. We’re all going there tonight to do the warding.”

Graves glances at her sharply. “This would be an establishment co-owned with the No-Maj?”

“Yes, sir. Jacob Kowalski. They’re very excited.”

“I’m sure they are,” Graves says non-committally, sorting papers.

“I’m leaving now, sir,” Tina says. “Would you like to come and help?”

He looks up slowly. Fortunately she’s already braced for the straight dark stare that he uses on people who ask odd questions, the one that means he’s deciding whether or not you deserve an answer and also whether it ought to be shouted. 

“Why not,” he says at last. He sounds a little surprised at himself.

They Apparate a block away from the bakery, since Graves isn’t familiar with the area and the only other option is to chance the subway. They make a little awkward conversation about No-Maj transportation is terrible and then lapse into uneasy silence. Tina keeps wondering if this was an enormous mistake. She was half-certain that he was going to say no and had no small talk prepared for this eventuality.

“Is your sister marrying Mr Kowalski, then?” Graves asks abruptly.

“I think so,” Tina says. “They’re going to live together. There’s an apartment above the bakery. It won’t be ready for a while, but as soon as it is, she’s moving out.”

“It’s going to be hard,” Graves says. He sounds like Picquery; it’s impossible to tell what he thinks about this. “Living with a No-Maj will lose her friends.”

“Not good friends,” Tina says shortly.

“Hm,” is Graves’ only reply.

The glass front of the bakery is dark, but it only looks deserted because everybody’s around the back, in the kitchen. Tina is nearly at the door when she looks at her reflection and sees that she’s left Graves behind. Puzzled, she turns around.

He’s standing stock-still with an expression she’s never seen on his face before, shocked and maybe a little awed. Tina follows his gaze down the street. There’s a young man reading a book under a streetlight nearby, the blue dusk gathering around him. It’s Credence caught unawares, his face animated with interest at whatever he’s reading now. Graves is looking at him as if transfixed, as if there’s nothing else in the world worth looking at.

A car sweeps past in a fan of headlight s and Credence blinks, roused out of his book. He glances around and sees Graves there, silently watching him. Tina is the unnoticed audience to the widest smile she has ever seen on Credence’s face – she didn’t know he  _could_ smile like that – as he hurries over, stuffing the book into his pocket.

“Mr Graves,” he says, when he’s close enough. “Why are you here?”

“The wards,” Graves answers. “Goldstein wanted a hand. How are you, Credence?”

Tina is literally standing right there, it’s not like she’s hidden, but she is beginning to feel slightly voyeuristic. She clears her throat and both men start. “Let’s go inside?” she suggests, pretending not to see the hot colour in Credence’s cheeks. She’s not Queenie. She lets people keep their secrets.

She opens the kitchen door to an Occamy. She can’t really blame Graves for swearing and reaching for his wand, there is something disconcerting about a huge beak thrust unexpectedly into your face, but Newt has it more or less in hand. A bit of parental scolding makes the Occamy back away from the door and Newt lures it into a saucepan with a tempting spider.

“You must be Mr Scamander,” Graves says flatly and Tina realises with a start that the two of them have never actually met before.

Newt’s eyes flick to him warily and away. He doesn’t like making eye contact, something Tina took for shiftiness at the start but now sees is just Newt’s way of coping. “Mr Graves,” he says quietly. “I would be very grateful if you returned my Niffler.”

Graves looks at him quizzically,  clearly  wondering how this particular  wizard ended up  taking down Gellert Grindelwald when half the Aurors in the MACUSA couldn’t manage  the task . “Why don’t you ask it,” he says, flipping open one side of his coat so that the Niffler can jump down. Credence, who has been watching Graves the whole time, gives a little breath of laughter. The Niffler scuttles across the floor to Newt, who scoops it up immediately and retreats into a corner  to conduct anxious inquiries .

“Hey there, Mr Graves,” Queenie says, coming over from the far end of the kitchen. She’s holding hands with Jacob. “It’s so sweet of you to help out.”

“It’s no trouble,” Graves says, though he looks like he’s having second thoughts.

Tina decides it’s best to just get on with doing the wards. Jacob and Credence sit at the table attentively while the wizards and witches walk around, murmuring protective spells that rise shimmering around them and soak slowly into the walls. It’s very quiet in the kitchen when they’re done – the spells have a muffling effect. Credence and Jacob are on the edge of their seats, eyes wide. The Niffler is on Credence’s lap, stuffing a spoon into its pouch.

“Oh no you don’t,” Queenie says firmly, retrieving the spoon. Credence pets the sullen Niffler apologetically.

Newt and Graves are having what looks like an uncomfortable exchange by the door, presumably negotiating  a custody arrangement . Since Queenie seems unconcerned by it, Tina devotes her attention to a much-needed cup of coffee and one of Jacob’s amazing pastries. It’s been a difficult day and there’s no reason to think tomorrow will be any easier.

She looks around at the kitchen. She and Queenie have been living together for so long that it’s hard to imagine Queenie living somewhere else, with someone else. Graves was right – if Queenie decides to marry Jacob, she’ll be burning a lot of bridges with the wizarding world. She will walk every day across the fine print of the  International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and if she ever missteps it could cost her everything. She’s going to do it anyway. Tina wishes she had half her sister’s courage.

“I’m not that brave, Tina,” Queenie says softly. “I just know what I’d regret more.”

Tina rests her head on her sister’s shoulder and thinks,  _You’re the bravest person I know._

Graves does not accept Queenie’s offer of coffee. He looks bone-tired. Whatever  agreement he and Newt have reached results in the Niffler returning smugly to Graves’ coat pocket, tugging speculatively on his watch-chain  as it goes . Credence gets up and follows Graves to the door; they speak quietly for a few minutes and Credence stays there when Graves leaves, watching him walk away.

“He’s not okay, is he,” he says to no one in particular. It’s Queenie who answers.

“No,” she says. “Who would be? But maybe you can do something about that.”

Tina bites her lip. The rush of guilt is familiar. It’s paralytic; how long has it been since she trusted her own judgement? There’s a difference, though, between thinking  _this will be hard_ and  _this is wrong._ Tina doesn’t know if she trusts herself to tell  which is which , but she’ll have to try. Because this feels  _right_ . This – these people, this place, the thing they’re building together. This feels like something she has to protect. 

*

Tina has a new rule. She is going to be the most inconvenient witch the MACUSA has ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been [translated into German](http://www.fanfiktion.de/s/58975f8a000351b82e0d82da/1/Constant-Vigilance-Both-Eyes-Open-) by RenKai.


End file.
